


A Toast to the Happy Couple

by TurtleTotem



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 21:15:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9566642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/pseuds/TurtleTotem
Summary: Charles needs to get married to get his inheritance; his best friend Erik is the obvious choice. Erik's straight, but it's all pretend anyway; of course he can keep seeing other people during their sham marriage. It would be just silly for Charles to be jealous. (On Tumblrhere.)





	

“The irony does not escape me,” Charles said as he leaned closer to the mirror, brushing careful fingertips through his hair, “that you have literally had lesbian threesomes under this roof, and _I_ am the one getting disinherited for my flaming homosexuality.”

Raven just grinned, nudging him over so she could have enough mirror to put on her lipstick. “I’ve never told less than the truth. ‘I’m having some girlfriends in for a sleepover, Kurt!’”

“And I’m _not_ even homosexual, I mean, technically I’m bisexual—”

“Yeah, I’m sure if you had sat your mom down and explained that, she would totally have changed her will. Want some lipstick?”

“Not tonight, thanks.” Charles looked into the mirror and sighed, feeling an unusual melancholy at the thought of his mother—dead for eight years now, and they’d hardly been close, but her will had still come as an unexpected slap in the face.

_“—this fund to become available to my son only upon the occasion of his legal marriage before the age of thirty years.”_ Sharon’s one last attempt from beyond the grave to make Charles settle down with a nice girl and forget this disreputable gay nonsense.

“It’s such an icky Old Money thing, making your kids squish into this mold in order to deserve their inheritance.” Raven made a disgusted face in the mirror. “Current Ladyfriend—you haven’t met her yet—she’s in the same boat, has to keep me way on the downlow. Ooh, I approve,” she added, as Charles shrugged a waistcoat over his shirt.

“I don’t even care about the money,” Charles said, lifting his chin. “It’s not like I can’t support myself, I’ve proven that. I just don’t like the thought of Kurt getting his hands on it. I turn thirty in a month and then—well, it’ll all go to Kurt’s yachts and parties and whiskey and failed Ponzi schemes, when there’s so many _good_ things I could do with it—medicine, science, homeless children…”

“You know,” Raven said thoughtfully, undoing a shirt button thoughtfully, then a few more, “if she’d lived a few years longer, it might have occurred to Sharon to specify legal marriage to a _woman._ I mean, at the time it was a non-issue, but… What?”

Charles was staring at her in the mirror, mouth opening. “Raven, you are brilliant.”

“As per usual. So?”

Charles just templed his fingers like a supervillain and cackled maniacally.

***

“I want you to marry me.”

Charles treasured the expression on his best friend’s face, the way his mouth fell open, eyebrows drawing together, head tilting just a shade.

“I know, I know, straight as a board, got a girlfriend to prove it,” Charles continued, waving a hand as if to dismiss these minor concerns. “The will doesn’t say I have to _stay_ married. But I’ve only got a month to find someone and I figured—we’re best friends, it couldn’t be too awful to be roommates for a year or so, hm?”

Erik was still staring at him, eyes narrowing as if he weren’t certain he were hearing Charles correctly. Which, actually, could be true, as the club was rather loud.

“Let’s go outside,” Charles said, and towed Erik out into fresh air and comparative quiet. “What I said was—”

“I heard you,” Erik interrupted. “This is about your mother’s will?”

“Yes! Isn’t it brilliant? I get to give Kurt _and_ Mum the finger. I can’t wait to see his face!”

“A marriage of convenience, then,” Erik said, and there was something brittle about his voice, his face—but it was gone before Charles could put a finger on it. “Specifically, _your_ convenience.”

“I’ll split it with you,” Charles said. “Say, twenty-five percent? Of ten million dollars, so, nothing to sneeze at—we’ll put it in the pre-nup, even.”

“You want me to marry you for money.”

Charles frowned. This was not going over nearly as well as he’d hoped. “Just, y'know, so it’s not such a one-sided deal. I’m not suggesting you start turning tricks—we can have separate bedrooms and everything.”

“Of course,” Erik said, and there was definitely something off about his smile.

“And you can keep seeing Emma, of course you can,” Charles hurried to add. “I admit it throws a bit of a wrench for you two, but surely two and a half million dollars is worth a bit of effort—I’ll even round it up to three!”

Erik continued to stare, and Charles dragged a frustrated hand through his hair. Whoops—so much for all his careful styling. “If you don’t want to, Erik, it’s all right. It’s a lot to ask, I know that. I was just so excited—but it’s fine, truly, I’ll find someone else—”

“No!” Erik’s gaze snapped abruptly to his. “No, I'll—I’ll do it.”

“Really?” Charles smiled so wide it hurt. “Fantastic. _Fantastic_ , my friend, thank you!” Giddy, he threw his arms around Erik in a fierce hug. “Come on, let’s tell Raven the good news!”

“I’m coming,” Erik said, but he followed after rather slowly. Well, it was a lot to take in, Charles supposed. But it would all work out perfectly, he knew it.

***

Kurt was throwing some kind of inane allegedly-for-charity soiree three days later; Charles decided that was the perfect time to announce the engagement. Not that he was technically invited to the soiree, but he did technically _own the house_ so take that, stepdaddy dearest.

He and Erik had set a date—a full week before Charles’s birthday, just in case—and Raven was helping get everything set up. Charles rather wanted to make everything as cheesy and flamboyant as humanly possible, for maximum family discomfort, but that had to be constantly balanced by how much it would embarrass Erik. Erik didn’t have any family to mortify, both his parents having died when he was still a child, but Charles still figured asking a straight man to wear a leopard-print loincloth at his nuptials, however well-compensated those nuptials might be, was a little much.

“We do need to be rather cuddly, though, I think,” Charles said apologetically as they rode to the party, window closed between them and the driver. “Can’t give Kurt any reason to cry ‘fraud’ and cause trouble. Just, y'know, hold hands, call each other 'darling,’ that sort of thing.”

“I don’t think I can call you 'darling,’” Erik said, wrinkling his nose, which was frankly adorable. “I don’t call anyone 'darling.’”

Charles laughed. “Fine, just don’t be surprised when I do. And stop messing with that,” he batted Erik’s hands away from the collar of his tux. “You look amazing. Don’t ruin it.” _You always look amazing_ , he thought but did not say.

Erik grumbled but subsided, and the car pulled to a stop outside the Xavier mansion.

“Wow,” Erik muttered as they stood in the drive. “You poor thing, growing up here.”

“Thanks, Erik,” Charles said, stung; growing up here had not, in fact, been at all pleasant, and he knew Erik knew that.

Erik winced, throwing an arm around Charles’s shoulders. “Sorry. I shouldn’t knock it; of all this will I be mistress, after all.”

“Oh, shall the shades of Pemberley be thus polluted?” Charles cackled and relaxed under Erik’s arm.

They were both quiet for a moment, not moving, and Charles wondered if Erik was feeling awkward about touching him now, if the casual shoves and bumps and pats they’d always shared would suddenly become strange, now that they were part of an act. Or, to put it another way, he had always enjoyed Erik touching him more than he probably should have and was terrified that now Erik was going to notice.

“They’ll probably want us to kiss,” he blurted, which was not what he’d meant to say. “When we announce that we’re getting married. There’ll be a toast and all. Can you—will you—is that all right?”

“I doubt we can get through a convincing year of marriage without kissing,” Erik said. All the same, his arm around Charles’s shoulders had gone tense.

“It’s all right if you don’t want to tonight,” Charles said softly, and it was hard not to feel rejected even though that wasn’t fair to Erik at all. “You haven’t had much time to adjust to this idea, I’m sure we can—”

“No, it’s just that… I don’t feel like that should be our first kiss, do you? In the spotlight, in front of everyone? Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, practice?”

“Yes, actually, that’s a good idea,” Charles said, because if Erik was going to have a massive heterosexual freakout on the level of Princess Tiana kissing the frog, better to do it on the lawn than in the middle of the party.

Then his pulse was suddenly rocketing as Erik turned to face him and leaned down and he realized _this was actually going to happen._

And then it was happening, and fine, maybe Charles had thought about this before, maybe he had wondered, nothing wrong with that, and maybe—maybe he had utterly underestimated how it would feel to have Erik’s hands on him, just one hand actually, just his fingers tipping Charles’s face up, and his mouth pressing warm against Charles’s, shy and searching and experimental, and what exactly was the train of thought Charles had been on…? Too late, it was gone, all he could do was close his eyes and hang on, tugging Erik closer by his belt loops and letting himself be kissed—not passively, by any means, but letting Erik lead, keeping the kiss gentle and slow instead of barrelling into things the way he usually did. It was astonishing and he didn’t want it to ever end.

Of course it did end. Erik pulled back, and said, “Yeah, I can handle that,” and if his face was a little pink and his voice a little rough and breathless, it could easily be nerves.

Charles told himself that very firmly, because Erik was his best friend and they were pulling something of a con on his stepfather and the last thing he needed right now was to complicate everything by—how ridiculous—actually falling in love with his fiance.

The announcement at the party went as well as he could ever have hoped. The crowd of ridiculously rich old friends and enemies of the family applauded, all tittering and whispering behind their drinks. And Kurt… ah, Kurt looked ready to _explode,_ his face red and a vein throbbing in his forehead.

“A toast!” Raven called. “To the happy couple!”

“All the best wishes,” drawled a familiar voice. Startled, Charles tore his gaze away from his fuming stepfather. He hadn’t realized Emma would be here. Uneasily, he glanced from Erik, standing with one arm around Charles’s own waist, to Erik’s _girlfriend_ , resplendent in ice-white and diamonds next to Raven.

Erik didn’t seem bothered by Emma’s presence, though, giving her a friendly—but only friendly—glance as he raised his glass, and turned his head to kiss Charles’s temple. Several people in the crowd _awww_ ’d.

Erik was doing _cuddly_ rather better than expected.

They were soon mobbed by well-wishers, most of whom were taken aback by the immediacy of the wedding date but much too well-bred to say so. Erik let Charles do most of the talking, but held his hand throughout, and Kurt looked like he’d found half a worm in his apple, and everything was _glorious_ for about an hour…

Until Erik walked off. Charles, deep in conversation with one of his old professors about what effect marriage might have on his academic pursuits (something he had not given one moment of thought, but he saw no reason why his plans should change), could only spare a glance toward Erik when he let go of Charles’s hand and stepped away. Erik waved at him vaguely, a gesture clearly intended to be reassuring even as it communicated nothing whatsoever.

He didn’t come back.

After the fourth party-goer asked where he’d misplaced his brand-new fiance, Charles threw manners to the wind and went to look for him.

He had just stepped out the drawing room door when a hand clamped around his upper arm and spun him around, nearly throwing him into the wall.

“You think I don’t know what you’re up to, you little brat?” Kurt snarled. “You think I won’t have a team of lawyers with pinky toes that are smarter than you crawling all over your life? You’ve let yourself in for hell, boy—”

“Let go of me,” Charles snapped, telling his incipient panic attack that Kurt wouldn’t hurt him, not really hurt him, not with dozens of people right on the other side of the door.

But Kurt’s grip on his arm only tightened, making Charles gasp against his will, and he couldn’t help thinking that this would be an excellent time for his tall, strong fiance to swoop in and save the day—

And there he was, Charles realized, there was Erik… slipping out of a side room behind Kurt, hand in hand with Emma Frost.

Oh, _lovely_. Rather the opposite of a rescue; now Charles had to _keep_ Kurt’s attention lest he see Erik. The jig would be entirely up if Kurt caught a glimpse of Charles’s supposed fiance snogging some girl in the hallway. Charles tried to quash a desire to smash a lamp over Erik’s head.

“Hell? A little late for that, sir,” Charles said, heart pounding, trying to take anger at Erik and fear of Kurt and transmute them into a much more reasonable _anger at Kurt_. “I already survived hell, which is to say, growing up with you. Lawyers aren’t much of a threat compared to being pushed down the stairs.”

If his goal was to get Kurt’s attention, it certainly worked. Kurt was staring at him, eyes bulging, mouth open—as if it were Charles who had done something unspeakable, by referencing Kurt’s abuse, rather than Kurt himself by perpetrating it.

Behind Kurt, Erik had frozen in place, his own mouth dropping open—and there was no need for him to look so shocked, surely. Charles had told him more than once how terrible Kurt was… though come to think of it, he hadn’t shared many specifics, even with Erik. Telling the full truth of his childhood had always seemed embarrassing somehow, like he was angling for attention or sympathy.

Anyway, Erik was missing his chance to get away. Charles, meeting his eyes over Kurt’s shoulder as his stepfather began shouting something about lies and ingratitude, tried to give a subtle signal, jerking his head toward the other door into the party.

Erik clearly saw the signal. His response was to shake his head. He turned to Emma, who was watching Kurt with her lip curled in disgust, and nudged her toward the door with a murmur, while he himself marched up to Charles’s side.

“Excuse me,” Erik said, nearly shouting over Kurt’s tirade.

Kurt shut his mouth mid-word, looking affronted by the interruption.

Erik wrapped an arm around Charles’s back, lacing his fingers into Charles’s farther hand. Charles felt himself grip back with white-knuckle strength, and was surprised to realize his own hand was shaking.

“We’ve done what we came to do, I think,” Erik was saying. “No need for Charles to put up with you anymore tonight—or for the rest of his life, hopefully. Come on, _Schatz_ , let’s go.”

_Schatz_ —wasn’t that basically German for 'darling’?

Charles let himself be whisked out of the party and into their waiting car, not speaking as they pulled out of the drive.

“Charles, are you all right?” Erik asked.

“You can stop now,” Charles said, pushing away the arm Erik still had around him. “No one’s watching, you can stop pretending.”

Erik frowned. “I’m not _pretending_ to care whether you’re okay—”

“No, I mean—you care enough to s-step in with Kurt, I appreciate it, you did splendidly, and of course you did because we’re best friends but you can _stop pretending to love me.”_ Charles didn’t know why he was angry, didn’t realize he _was_ angry until he heard his own voice shouting. “It was still stupid, Erik, it was stupid and irresponsible, I can’t believe you would sneak off with your girlfriend _minutes_ after we announced our engagement! You put the entire plan in danger! You’re supposed to be in love with me, and no one would believe that if they saw you and _Emma Frost_ —what if someone had walked in on you two and seen you—”

The image burned on the backs of his eyelids with the suddenness of a brand, Erik and Emma with their arms around each other, Erik kissing a path down the perfect white column of her neck—it was nothing he hadn’t seen before and he’d never been bothered by it…

He’d never admitted that it bothered him. He’d never allowed himself to realize that he hated seeing Erik with someone else, until tonight, when he had the tiniest taste of what it might be like to have Erik for real.

Erik was staring at him in bewilderment, unspeakably beautiful in his now-rumpled tux, and Charles wasn’t sure he could bear to be in the car with him for one more minute.

Erik tried to reach out for him, and Charles broke entirely, pulling away to stab at the intercom to the driver.

“Bill, I need you to pull over right now.”

Tires squealed as the car careened into the parking lot of a gas station they had already almost passed. Erik swore, grabbing at his armrest to keep from falling over; Charles was already opening the door, and slamming it in Erik’s face when he would have followed. He went to the back of the car and leaned against it, hands on his knees, gulping air like a drowning man.

“Sir?” the poor driver asked from the window, eyes wide, but Charles waved him back.

“I’m fine, Bill, I just need some air. I’m fine, honest, stay in the car.” Well-trained, Bill did as he was told.

Charles pushed trembling fingers through his hair. The time had come, apparently—like it or not—for him to face something he’d managed to hide from himself. That he was jealous of Erik’s love and attention. That he wanted Erik for himself.

When had that happened? They’d been best friends for _ages,_ they’d always been… close, connected, deeply involved in each other’s lives, from the first moment they met—when Charles, lifeguarding the university’s pool, pulled Erik out of the deep end before he could drown. But Erik had been dating Magda then, and later some other girl, and… well, he’d just obviously never been an option. Sure, Charles noticed Erik was attractive, but he’d never—he thought—allowed himself to think of Erik that way.

And if his own love life had grown steadily more stagnant and frustrating, as man after man failed to measure up—oh, it was so _obvious_ to him now, that none of them worked out because none of them measured up to Erik—

But it was no good, any of this. Erik was straight and that was that. Charles had no right to be jealous, engaged or not. Erik was making a huge sacrifice in order to help Charles, and part of the deal, from its inception, was that Erik could continue seeing Emma or whoever else he fancied.

Charles quailed at the idea of spending months and months as Erik’s pretend-husband, lovey-dovey in public and then… watching him creep home at dawn with a smug smile and Emma’s perfume on his skin.

But he would do it. He knew that much about himself—that he would take all the intimacy he could get from Erik, knowing it wasn’t real, rather than lose him completely.

Right then. In that case, there simply wasn’t anything to be done, except to get back in the car, play all this off as being upset about his confrontation with Kurt (which was close enough to the truth, Erik wasn’t the _only_ reason his hands were shaking), and carry on.

Charles took a deep breath and opened the car door.

“—thanks, Emma,” Erik was saying into his phone. “Maybe you’re right.”

Nope. Nope, he could not handle this. Maybe never, but certainly not tonight. Erik was looking up at him, the word “Charles” leaving his lips on a wave of exasperation and concern, but Charles was already closing the door again and moving away to the driver’s window.

“Bill, take Mr. Lehnsherr home.”

“But, sir, I can’t just leave you—”

“We’re not that far from the party, I’ll walk back and get Raven to give me a ride. Just _go.”_

***

It was a much longer walk back to the mansion than he anticipated. Long enough for his feet to blister in his elegant shoes, for sweat to chill on his back, and for him to fully realize the enormity of his own idiocy, rejecting a car ride with Erik in order to go back to a house with Kurt Marko in it. He sent Raven four texts and two attempted calls, before realizing that she likely couldn’t hear her phone over the party, if she even had it on her. Never mind, surely he could avoid Kurt long enough to find Raven.

He was half-right; avoiding Kurt turned out to be blessedly easy, since the man was blind drunk and being helped up the stairs to his room just as Charles came through the door. Finding Raven, however, was not easy at all. He checked the ballroom through barely-cracked doors from three different angles, and caught no sight of his sister. Perhaps she’d already gone up to bed? It was awfully early…

He crept upstairs to Raven’s room, and raised his hand to knock on the door—only to be interrupted by a rather alarming _thud_ from within. “Raven?” he cried, opening the door.

And stood there, mouth open, attempting to process the sight that met his eyes.

_“Charles!”_ Raven yelped, scrambling to cover herself. “You could _knock_ , what on earth—”

“Sorry,” Charles stammered, “sorry, I didn’t realize, I didn't… but why are you… _Emma?”_

Because, as mind-scarringly awful as it was to walk in on his sister and her girlfriend in a state of very purposeful undress, it was even worse to discover that the girlfriend in question was also _Erik’s_ girlfriend.

“Why am I Emma?” said the aforementioned lady, pulling her skirt back down into place with perfectly serene aplomb. “I suppose because my parents had already used all the names they _really_ liked.”

“What are you doing here with _her?”_ The anger sparking hot in Charles’s chest was a surprise; he might have expected to be glad of anything that smacked of imminent breakup between Emma and Erik, but the thought of Erik’s devastated face erased any fledgling feeling of triumph.

“Do you two know each other?” Raven was saying warily. “I mean, I know she knows Erik—”

“Knows Erik? I should say so! Biblically, even!”

“Wait.” Raven turned to Emma with, surprisingly, more consternation than outrage. "Is _Erik_ the fake boyfriend?”

“He seems to be making a career out of that,” Emma said drily. “Poor boy, it’s a shame no one wants to date him for real.”

“Screw you, Emma Frost,” Charles heard himself saying wildly, “you’ve been playing with him for _months_ —”

“Hold on there, lover boy.” Emma sounded faintly scandalized by his theatrics. “I haven’t been playing anyone, except my parents, I suppose. Erik owed me a favor, that’s all. Trust me,” her smile grew secretive, “he has no more romantic interest in me than you do. _And,_ before you get up in arms about him not telling you, I swore him to utter secrecy about the whole thing.”

Charles stared for a minute, feeling his brain trying to rearrange itself and accommodate this information. Emma took the opportunity to pull Raven down into her lap and nuzzle her neck, which did not help Charles feel any less freaked out. He tried not to gag—this was his _baby sister._

“But Erik can’t keep being your… beard or whatever he was,” Charles managed at last, “now that he’s publicly engaged to me!”

“Yes, that’s quite irritating,” Emma said. “We’ve been working out the details of that. What do you think we were talking about, before we were so rudely interrupted by your lovely stepfather? Erik had this half-baked plan for a nasty, screaming breakup right there at the party, but I convinced him you would only find that embarrassing. _I_ certainly would.”

“He was going to break up with you?”

“Are you listening at all, sugar? He was never _with_ me.” Emma gave Raven an exasperated look. “Is he always like this?”

“Yes,” Raven said firmly, much too occupied running her fingers through Emma’s hair to even look up at her brother.

“Anyway, I’m surprised Erik didn’t tell you all this himself. I gave him full permission to do so—urrged him to, in fact, when he called all frantic about you having some kind of breakdown on the side of the road. I’ve been _trying_ to tell him you were jealous of us, or rather of him, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”

Charles’s heart, which had been slowly rising, plummeted again. “Of course not. Because he doesn't—he wouldn’t want me interested in him, it would only ruin everything, he doesn’t want—”

“Heaven spare me,” Emma groaned. “He really _is_ always like this, isn’t he?”

“It’s best to be very blunt, like with a child,” Raven said, and turned to look Charles squarely in the eyes. Which only revealed just how much of her shirt was unbuttoned, _why_ was this his life. “Charles, Erik didn’t believe Emma because he didn’t want to get his hopes up. He’s been in love with you for _years_ and frankly everyone knew but you—or didn’t you notice how absolutely no one was surprised by your engagement? Wait—Charles, where are you going?”

“Calling a cab!” Charles shouted as he sprinted down the hallway.

Emma’s voice followed him faintly. “Let him go. And for heaven’s sake lock the door this time.”

***

It started pouring rain on the way, because of course it did, and by the time Charles got to the door to Erik’s apartment, he was soaked, hair plastered to his head and water streaming down his trouser legs into his shoes. He stood there in the rain for the space of several deep breaths, gathering the nerve to knock.

The door opened before his knuckles could touch it, and there was Erik, still wearing most of the tux—bowtie unknotted, cuffs and first four shirt buttons undone, hair disheveled as if he’d been tearing his fingers through it. He was staring at Charles as if he were both the most amazing and most obnoxious thing in the entire world.

“You’re all wet,” Erik said.

Charles nodded.

“You’re an _idiot_ ,” Erik said.

Charles nodded again.

“Are you going to say anything?”

Charles swallowed. “I talked to Emma.”

Erik went still.

Moving slowly, trying not to let his hands shake, Charles grabbed the ends of Erik’s undone bowtie and pulled him down to kiss him.

If he’d still doubted his own feelings, the deep satisfaction and very distinct _yesthisplease_ that kissing Erik prompted was enough to settle it. He’d wanted this so badly, and now Erik had his hands in Charles’s hair and his mouth opening eagerly and everything in the world was entirely wonderful.

_Yes, this please, more and right now and forever._

Erik dragged him inside by the lapels of his wet coat and kicked the door shut behind them.

***

Their wedding day was sunny and beautiful and a complete disaster. The caterer dropped the cake, one of the wedding rings ended up in a drainpipe, and poor Raven, who had the flu and barely dragged herself out of bed for the occasion, threw up noisily during the exchange of vows. Kurt tried to crash the ceremony, but was ejected by security, drunk and shouting.

The grooms barely noticed, spending most of their time gazing at each other in adoration. It was widely agreed among the guests that, convenient timing or not, Kurt’s insistence that the marriage was a fraud was poppycock. They’d never seen a couple more obviously in love in all their lives.


End file.
